


Like Warm Honey

by SonjaJade



Series: Bee Stings and Honey [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, First Time, Letters, Love Confessions, Royai Week 2020, Secret Marriage, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24607954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonjaJade/pseuds/SonjaJade
Summary: While Roy settles in at the academy, he exchanges letters back and forth with his master's daughter in an attempt to save their troubled friendship- a friendship nearly lost because of his decision to join the military. As time goes on, and Master Hawkeye's health continues to decline, their letters become more vital for both of them.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Series: Bee Stings and Honey [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795597
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	Like Warm Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Royai Week 2020 Day 1: Letters

Dear Miss Hawkeye,

I hope you and your father are doing well. I’ve been in the barracks for two days now and have just gotten some time to myself to write. Be assured that this noisy and boisterous hall of young men pales in comparison to the quiet country life at the Hawkeye estate. There’s a lot of yelling and shouting and I already miss the peace of reading by lamplight until the wee hours of the morning, even if it’s dull reading material. The food isn’t bad, but it’s not as good as yours. I do not, however, have to worry about the roof caving in if I sneeze too hard. (I hope that made you smile)

I was issued my service pistol today and tomorrow we’ll get our rifles. We spent hours afterward breaking them down and putting them back together, even those of us with firearm experience. Next week, we’ll have a test to see how quickly we can disassemble and reassemble them. The slowest two will get latrine duty for two weeks- better believe I’m practicing a lot. You can attest to my negligent cleaning abilities in the bathroom. Sorry for that, by the way.

The grounds are really well kept. Beautiful trees and grass, there’s even some flowers by the entrance to our academy where we take our classes. The teachers are all older military officers and none of them have any patience for the newcomers. We have to sit at attention at all times (I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a seated attention position) and we can’t raise our hands, we have to stand completely up out of our seats to answer or ask questions. The whole process feels entirely like a show put on for the teachers, as if they get their jollies from watching us go through the same crap they did coming up.

Enough about me, how is Master Hawkeye doing? Did he get to the doctor about that cough? If you need money for the doctor or medication, please let me know. The only thing I spend my check on is the occasional drink at the local tavern, and I’m more than happy to share. Sending a telegram is probably the fastest way to reach me. There’s an emergency phone number here but someone said it takes forever to get through, and even then, if you don’t have the right information, they disconnect you. You can also call my aunt in Central.

How are you doing? I know the last time we saw each other, you were pretty angry with me, as was your father. I still feel like serving my country is the best way for me to use alchemy to help the people. I hope I can prove that to both of you while I’m here. And if I’m being totally honest, I miss you. I miss the sound of your voice calling through the house, because you managed to be just loud enough to be heard but not so loud to be annoying or noisy, like it is here. Of course I miss the smell of the bread you baked every Monday, and the sound of you humming to yourself while you hung the laundry on the line. I miss the smell of that old house, the sound of that one squeaky step on the front porch, the sound of rain on the rusty tin roof… I better stop before I get entirely too homesick- and it’s not even my home!

I’ve enclosed my mailing information so we can keep in touch. My aunt’s telephone number is underneath that at the bottom. Please see about ringing the doctor to come check on Master Hawkeye. That cough sounds terrible and I don’t want him suffering too long with it. I miss you, take care of yourself, and I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,

Roy Mustang

* * *

  
  
  


Dear Mr. Mustang,

You’ll find no sympathy from either me or my father regarding your discomfort at the training base. We made several attempts to dissuade you from joining the army. Perhaps if you’re missing our home, you’ve made a grave mistake in leaving it. In other words: You made your bed, now lie in it.

That being said, I do appreciate your thoughtfulness and kindness in checking in on me and my father. However, as you know, he’s as stubborn as the day is long. He refuses to see the doctor and has been concocting different elixirs and potions in an attempt to treat himself. I don’t think his homebrewed medicines are working. If he gets much worse, I’ll have to insist vehemently that he sees him anyway, even if he throws a fit and hurls his coffee mug at me.

I hope you’re not adding to the noise around you. Keep your mouth shut, your ears open, and take mental notes of everything. You can’t trust anyone in the military. They all gab and gossip- word spreads like the plague and twice as fast. As for your marksman training, just remember to aim low. Even if it’s not a killing shot, you might be able to disable your target so a better shot can kill him.

The house is far quieter without you in it, and cleaner as well. Perhaps latrine duty could teach you some much needed skills, kitchen duty as well. I have less laundry and dishes to wash, and more time to read and tend to our garden. But if I’m being completely honest, I miss you, too.

I know our last meeting was tense and filled with disappointment on all sides. Father stays in his study and I stay in my room apart from my chores. It feels lonely without you here, even if you’re a disaster wrapped up in a hurricane. Is your bed nice? Do you share a big room with everyone or is it a smaller room with a handful of roommates? What kind of food are they serving? What classes are you taking? If you’re going to write, please send more details.

Thank you for offering to pay for any care or medicine Father needs. Of course, it will be a secret between you and me. I’m still hoping you’ll come to your senses and come back to us, but I don’t think it’s likely. But if you change your mind, you’ll be welcome.

Best wishes,

Riza Hawkeye

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Dear Miss Hawkeye,

You have no idea how much your sentiments about missing me warmed my heart. (I can see your eyes rolling even as I wrote that) Every day here is an endless string of “YES SIR!” and “NO SIR!” and macho posturing among the rest of the new soldiers. Plenty of cockiness to go around and not so much tenderness, that’s for certain.

My bunk is in a large room that mostly smells like a gym. I sleep on the bottom and my bunkmate is a guy with curly red hair from Pendleton. He’s going into radio communications, intelligence division- basically spy training. Nice guy, but we don’t really talk much. The walls are stark white with a poured concrete floor, so everything echoes horribly and even a little conversation can make a big sound. We mostly read and study in our bunks.

The mess hall is in another building, and it’s mostly the same decor. Rows of long picnic style tables fill it, and there’s some banners hanging from the ceiling about good nutrition and exercise to keep the body healthy. It’s always jammed with people. The food always smells good, but when you get up to the line to fill the tray, it looks picked over and unappealing. Have they never heard of proper presentation? I know, it’s not a restaurant and I shouldn’t expect so much from them, but it would be nice to look at your plate with a twinge of excitement about eating what’s on it. As far as the fare, they serve oatmeal porridge every morning along with some fruits and sometimes eggs, bacon, or sausage and toast. Lunches are usually stews or soups with salads and sandwiches (probably the best part of lunch is the bread the sandwiches come on, top notch quality there) Dinner is always a hearty serving of some kind of meat, cooked vegetables, some dish with potatoes, a roll, and a slice of pie or cake. Sometimes we get just berries and whipped cream for dessert. I want to try the spinach quiche they serve for breakfast on Wednesdays, but it’s always gone by the time I get to it. Must be pretty good.

My classes consist of a mix of leadership training, military skills, and alchemical applications. We started learning Morse code today and next week in a different class we’ll begin digging deeper into the chains of command and how to manage squads of five. We’re going through the handbook and breaking down different statutes and regulations so we know what orders we can give and which we can refuse to take. In other words, it’s extremely important stuff written in the most boring and dismal way. I’d much rather run two miles and practice on the firing range.

I still wonder every night before bed if I made the right decision. I told myself I’ll give it a month and if I’m still questioning it, I’ll return to your home. Right now, I feel a little overwhelmed with the newness of it all and trying to figure out where I fit in with my goals. As always, I’ll let you know before I decide. For now, I’m going to end this letter because it’s five minutes before lights out, and there’s no windows in here to try and write more by moonlight. Hope to hear back from you soon.

Your friend,

Roy

  
  


* * *

  
  


Dear Roy,

Thank you for the clarifications about your new residence. It sounds like an institution! I hope you’re getting plenty of sunlight in between all of that book learning. Morse code sounds fun, rules and regulations do not. It’s a shame about the quiche, as well. The next time I make one, I’ll think of you.

Father’s not gotten any better but he doesn’t seem to have gotten any worse. He had to alchemically repair the roof again, but he didn’t have any extra tin, so there’s still lots of weak spots and rust. No leaks to report at the moment, at least.

I traded a big bushel of green peppers for three chicks, so we should have our own eggs soon. I was able to fashion a coop for them out of some spare boards I found in the basement. It looks awful, but it will do the job. Maybe some paint is all it needs. The rest of the garden is growing well. I just brought in strawberries this morning and have them bubbling on the stove to make jam. Maybe I’ll send you a small jar of it.

Mrs. Teedle passed away two days ago. I don’t know if you met her, but she lived three houses down from us, to the left if you’re looking at the front door from the road. She was up in years but still butchered her own meat. Apparently she had an infection from stepping on a piece of glass and it got into her bloodstream. Please be careful, I know how clumsy you can be.

I did roll my eyes at your mention of tenderness. When are you going to learn that your charismatic one-liners don’t work on me? Still, I do miss you, I worry that you’re safe and healthy… Why does this suddenly sound like a love letter? Well, even if I did love you (I don’t) it would be a familial kind of love a sister may have for her stubborn and annoying brother. I care about you. And I still wish you’d come home (even though it’s not your home)

I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but getting a letter from you really breaks up the monotony around here. I hope you get time to write again soon. Good luck on snagging that quiche.

Your friend,

Riza

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


My dear Riza,

I’m sorry it’s taken so long to write you back. Classes and kitchen duty and long runs have beat me into submission every night. I hope you’re not too upset with me. It feels like I’ve only been here a few weeks but it won’t be long until graduation, where I’ll have the rank of second lieutenant and an officer’s salary instead of an enlisted man’s salary. When graduation is over, I’ll get two weeks to myself, and I’d like to pay you and your father a visit, if it’s alright. 

I hope I’m not being too forward in admitting this, but I seem to keep dreaming about you. Nothing improper, just spending time together and talking mostly. I guess I’m more attached to you than I realized. I’ve made some friends, but they’re just not the same. Riza, what are your plans for the future? Would it be rude of me to consider courting you? I don’t even know if that’s what my subconsciousness is trying to tell me, but it’s telling me something, that’s for sure. Think about it, I won’t be sore either way.

I’m sorry about Mrs. Teedle. I only met her a few times in passing, but she reminded me a lot of my aunt. Isn’t she the one who made the lye soap that we used for the laundry? Did her family decide to keep the house or did they sell it? If they are selling it, maybe I should buy it and insist you and Master Hawkeye keep it up for me. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about the roof caving in on you both while I’m gone.

As I said, I made some friends. One of them, Maes Hughes, was a real jerk. He stole the quiche right from under my fork! What changed is when he saw me standing up for my other friend, Heathcliff. He’s Ishvalan. People bully him all the time for it, so I sort of started hanging out with him to protect him. One day, Maes and his friends cornered us, but instead of pummeling us, Maes turned around to help us pummel his friends! He’s actually really cool, apologized to both of us for the shit we’d been putting up with because of his group. We got in trouble for the fight though and had to spend the rest of the day digging an enormous hole only to turn around and fill it back up. We were working until after midnight and then had to be up at 5 in the morning. It was worth it, though.

So I finally got some quiche, and it’s probably the best thing the cook makes. No wonder there was never any of it. The eggs were so light and fluffy, the spinach wasn’t too soggy, and just the right amount of cheese and seasoning. If I can weasel the recipe out of them, I’ll send it to you.

If I seem like I’m rambling or a little inarticulate, I have had a few drinks. I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors. I sometimes wish I didn’t have to be so formal with you, after all we’re friends. No, I’m dropping the formalities- Riza, I miss you like crazy. I think I might be in love with you, but I’m pretty sure you don’t feel that way about me and that’s okay. I lied about my dreams. I have had one where I kissed you and the only thing I can remember when woke up was- I don’t know how to describe it, it’s a feeling. Like warm sunshine at sunset, honey gleaming in the morning light, golden, sweet, warm… That’s what kissing you in my dream made me feel. My heart felt like it was so full of that feeling that it was going to explode. I wanted to feel like that forever and die happy. 

Maybe I shouldn’t even send this letter. Maybe I should sober up a little and try again tomorrow. Or maybe I should send it, seal it with a kiss, and proclaim to the entire world that I love you with every cell in my body. Maybe I’m just drunker than I thought…

I hope I haven’t offended you. I think I would die of shame if I have. I hope your father’s feeling better, and I’ll pray you decide to write to me again.

Yours, for as long as you’ll have me,

Roy

  
  


(PS- this is Roy’s bunkmate, Griffith. He fell asleep crying while addressing this. I promise I didn’t read it, but I have sent it since he seemed really desperate to get it to you.)

* * *

  
  
  


Roy,

In the future, don’t try to write to me when you’re inebriated. Thank goodness Father’s been bed ridden lately or he might have read it and set you on fire from way over here. 

Now then, I’m glad we’ve decided to quit being so formal too. I want to feel like I’m talking to a FRIEND, not the mayor. Your new friends sound interesting. Do you know what made Maes change his mind about being your enemy? And Heathcliff, does he have red eyes? I’ve never seen an Ishvalan in person before.

That quiche sounds yummy. Definitely send the recipe if you manage to get it. Father’s not doing very well and it seems all he wants is broth and coffee. He’s been coughing so badly. It sounds deep and damp in his lungs, but he still refuses the doctor. I’m really worried about him. You say you keep dreaming about me, and he says he keeps dreaming about my mother. Dreams are strange and often mean nothing. Please don’t try to stick yourself to me. I’m plain, independent, and a ‘sour puss’ as you once called me years ago. A week with me and you’d be over any feelings you have. Still though, I hope when I do kiss someone for the first time, that their reaction to it is how you described. It sounds genuine and pure, not perverted in any way at all. And I hope you find someone who can kiss you like that.

I tried to send you some jam but it was sent back. It’ll be here for when you visit. I spoke to your aunt on the phone to see if she’d heard from you, since it’s been nearly a month since you made time to write me. She’s very funny and highly intelligent. How the two of you are related is beyond me. 

When you come to visit, do you plan on staying the night or just coming over for dinner? I need to make sure we have enough food in either case. Try not to drink too much in the meantime, and good luck on all of your classes. Hope to hear from you sooner this time.

Sincerely,

Riza

P.S. Please tell Griffith he is a good friend and has beautiful handwriting

* * *

  
  


Dear Roy,

Sorry to write you again so quickly, and sorry I had to send it urgent mail (probably grabbing all kinds of attention) but Father’s gotten worse. He has episodes where he gasps for breath and sometimes coughs up dark blood. I have to stay in a chair next to his bed to make sure he doesn’t stop breathing in his sleep. I’m already exhausted and without Mrs. Teedle to help anymore, I have to watch him round the clock by myself.

I don’t know what to do. If I call the doctor, Father will be so angry with me. If I don’t, he could die. Should I call the doctor anyway? Will they give him some medicine without seeing him if I describe his symptoms in detail? I could use some guidance. You were always good at getting him to see reason when it really counted. Please, call the number at the bottom of this page, that’s our new neighbor’s house and they have a phone. I already told them you may be calling for me. I told them you were my cousin so don’t spoil it.

Please contact me soon, it’s an emergency.

Riza

* * *

“Ooh, a letter from your girl?” Maes asks.

Roy’s eyes scan the letter and without a word, he bolts to his feet and runs down the hall to the phone bank outside the mess hall. He dials the number listed and waits, his heartbeat thudding in his temples and panting for breath.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice answers.

“Hello, hi- my name is Roy Mustang, I’m calling for Miss Riza Hawkeye? She lives next door and she wrote me about my uncle.” He wishes it had been Riza who had answered, but puts up with the mystery woman on the other end.

“Oh sweetie, I’ll go get her right away, give me just a moment!” He hears the handset clatter onto a surface, then the sound of a squeaky porch door opening. The woman yells loudly, “MISS HAWKEYE! YOUR COUSIN’S ON THE PHONE!” After a few seconds, she calls out again. “YES, HE’S ON THE LINE RIGHT NOW! HURRY!”

The sound of footsteps running comes a few moments later and the phone clatters again. Breathlessly, Riza says, “Roy? Is that really you?”

God, he hates to hear the worry in her voice. “Yes, I just got your letter. Call the doctor and if your father refuses, tell him he’s doing free check ups. Tell him he looked at you first, and explain to the doctor what’s going on so he’ll go along with it. I’ll be at your door by tomorrow afternoon- and don’t worry about the cost, I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure it’ll work?” she asks, her voice wavering the tiniest bit.

“Absolutely. And if not, I’ll call the doc myself while I’m there.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much. I hope I’m not disrupting your schedule and making you graduate behind the others.”

He leans against the privacy divider. “My classes are all done, it’s just final paperwork before our graduation ceremony. All is well, don’t worry.”

“Okay. I’ll call the doctor and make sure your room is freshened up. See you tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait to see you. Try to rest, I love you.”

Without any hesitation, she replies, “I love you, too, Roy. Be safe on your way here.”

He hangs the phone up in the cradle and walks quickly down to his commander’s office, explaining the situation by giving precise details about where he will be and for how long. His request to leave early and skip the graduation ceremony is approved without any delay. By nightfall, he’s packed and ready to go, and in the morning, he’s on a train heading back to a country town with a dilapidated home.

* * *

The doctor arrived too late. Master Hawkeye died right before Roy’s eyes and there was nothing he could do to save him. He covers the cost of the funeral and burial, the cost of the marker and flowers, as well as a new black outfit for Riza and a new pair of shoes.

When they go back to the house, she turns away from him and unbuttons her blouse, letting it slip from her arms in a silent, silky heap. Her skin bears the secret to flame alchemy that her father guarded so closely. 

But Roy’s heart hurts for her and he can’t focus on the gift in front of him. Her back has been tattooed with a science she can’t even see, let alone understand. Master Hawkeye has used her as a housekeeper and personal assistant nearly all her life. Now Roy discovers he used her as a literal book as well.

“Aren’t you going to look at it?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Slowly, he takes off his long black coat, walks toward her, and puts it on her shoulders, wrapping it safely around her. She breaks into tears as he holds her. 

“I’m so sorry Riza,” he says quietly into the back of her head, where her hair smells sweet and clean. “I had no idea he’d done something like this to you.”

She tries to get her sobs under control, but he tells her to let it out. She’s been hurting alone for a long time, starved of affection and in need of a good cry- that much he knows about women from his upbringing with Madame Christmas and his ‘sisters’. He guides them to the sofa, where he just holds her and kisses the top of her head every now and then. His hand strokes her back and he offers her his handkerchief.

A long time later, after the sun goes down and they’re sitting in the dark, Riza sniffles and takes a deep breath. She turns her head to him and whispers, “I do love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Roy doesn’t know what to say. He feels his face heat in the darkness and wraps his arm around her shoulder and squeezes. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he murmurs.

“I don’t know.” 

She stands up and he can hear her pawing around the floor to find her shirt. Once she’s gotten it back on, she lights a lamp. Her eyes are puffy and red, but she goes into the kitchen as if she hadn’t spent the last few hours sobbing into his embrace. “Do you want some tea?” she calls, her tone flat.

Roy goes into the room, urging her that she should eat and try to get some rest. “You don’t have to care for him anymore, now’s the best time to get some sleep.”

She chuckles. “When I sleep, I see your face. I’d rather see the real you.”

His hand reaches out to touch her arm as she fills the kettle. “Do you really love me?”

She pauses. “I think it took me a while to notice how bright you made this dark house for me. We could talk about anything and everything, and you never dismissed me or told me to go do some task. You cared about my opinion, you treated me like I was your superior even though I’m younger than you. You respected me, and I’d never experienced that before. That’s when I knew I loved you, and just how deeply.”

Roy looked into her eyes, never having been so close to them before. “I’d die for you,” he blurted out.

“But we just confessed to each other,” she says, awkwardly turning and putting her hand on his chest. “Maybe we should live for each other first.”

He wants to kiss her, but instead he embraces her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other at the small of her back. He buries his face into the skin of her neck and chastely kisses her there instead. “Marry me,” he asks. She giggles and he decides immediately that he wants to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

“You just started your career, soldierboy. Let’s wait until your military days are done.”

“I’ll quit.”

Riza snorts with laughter this time and Roy changes his mind. He wants to hear _that_ sound for the rest of his life. “You can't just quit the military! They have to discharge you or court martial you or something! And then that goes on your criminal record as a civilian!”

He pulls back from her, now cradling her right cheek in his palm. “Then let me love you upstairs.”

She blinks. “Like… _naked?_ ” When he nods, her jaw drops open. “But I don’t even know how to kiss, let alone-”

Roy leans in, shushing her with his lips, an action that doesn’t ask for anything more than a simple connection between two people who love each other. His eyes still closed, he releases her.

“Breathe,” he whispers.

“You were right,” she replies, panting. “It’s like warm honey in the sunset.”

“Do you trust me?”

She responds by kissing him again, and she hums against his lips. His hands touch her cheeks to guide her to tilt her head to one side, then he timidly touches her lips with his tongue. When she lets him in, he feels like he’s living a dream. Suddenly, he breaks the kiss to be sure he’s not taking advantage of her.

“If you don’t take me upstairs, I’m going to take advantage of _you_ , Mr. Mustang.”

“Hold on,” he urges her to take a break. “If we do this, and for some reason we don’t get married, is that going to bother you?”

He sees in her eyes that she’s truly thinking about what he’s saying. She closes her eyes and drums her fingers on his forearms, contemplating the situation they’ve so quickly put themselves in. At last, she raises her head.

“There will never be anyone else. Whether we get married or not, I’ll always be yours.” She chuckles to herself, saying that sounded enough like a wedding vow to her and that they didn’t need to make it official.

He presses his forehead against hers. “Then I’ll always be yours, too.”

She takes him by the hand and leads him up the rickety stairs to her room, where they consummate their spoken bond. The next two days are a blur as Roy becomes as familiar with her body as he is with Morse code. 

When he leaves to rejoin the academy a week later, he has his master’s array and already has plans on how to use it. Riza has newly pierced ears, each ear sparkling with her birthstone in lieu of a wedding band on her finger. They decide to part ways at the house rather than at the train station, to protect their secret relationship. 

As he waits for the train, the mid morning sun peeks through the trees and warms his face. He thinks back to his dreams at the academy and that feeling of sunshine and hums contentedly to himself. 

“Better than warm honey,” he mutters as the train whistles its impending arrival from nearly a mile away. He stands and gathers his bag. “And twice as sweet.”


End file.
